


Stains

by AliaMael



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Angst, Gen, I'm back to my old love of angsty Sanae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliaMael/pseuds/AliaMael
Summary: Ink and paint engulf him to the point that it's all he can breathe.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Stains

Ink stains his fingers, always, but Sanae's stopped caring. Too many ideas bubbling in his mind, too many projects, Inspiration running through his veins like the best kind of drug. He doesn't sleep anymore, only crashes down for one hour or two when his body cannot keep going, and always wakes up with more ideas, more projects, more shapes lurking behind his eyelids.

Sketchpads, notebooks, sheets of paper, they are everywhere in WildKat, hiding every surface, the tables, the floor. Every wall in Shibuya feels like a blank canvas. He can picture them all covered in paint, and his heart beats faster, urging him to hurry and mark the town with his art.

Ink stains his fingers, paint stains his arms, and Sanae keeps going. He moves like in a fever dream, watching his hands work before he even knows what he's doing. The café is never opened anymore. He doesn't have time for it.

At some point he lost his phone, but that way nobody can interrupt him. His skin crawls with unease each time he has to stop drawing to turn the page of his sketchpad. Soon drawing will become more vital than breathing, or so it seems. It's exhilarating. He craves this feeling of utter _rightness_ when art comes to life under his fingers.

Ink stains his fingers, paint stains his arms, and only the black sticks to his skin. Sanae haunts the streets like a haggard spirit, leaving tags in his wake. Sigils mar the asphalt behind him, black on grey, growing like vines.

Time loses its meaning. Mundane tasks disappear from his life.

Art is everything.

One night, Joshua finds him.

"Sanae, you have to stop."

He doesn't even look up from his drawing. The ground is familiar, friendly under his knees. The smell of paint is overwhelming.

"Are you even conscious of what you're doing?"

More lines, more curves, more paint. Sanae doesn't know how to talk anymore, but he doesn't care. Art is the only thing he has left.

Taboo stains his fingers, his arms, his whole body, painting his skin with black patterns. And it's _hungry_ for more.


End file.
